


Entropy

by glitteratiglue



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Nero, Romance, Temporary Breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteratiglue/pseuds/glitteratiglue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Nero, everything between them has changed. In a brave new world, two people find themselves having to redefine what it means to love and be loved.</p><p>Canon missing moments covering the period post-Star Trek right up to post-Into Darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entropy

**Author's Note:**

> I've planned 3 chapters, but it may end up being more. This first chapter is a missing moment set between Nero's defeat and Spock's conversation with Spock Prime. 
> 
>  
> 
> _entropy: a lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder._

She knows something's wrong the second she hears the chime. Spock _never_ comes to her quarters. The cramped confines of a shared cadet's room have never held much appeal for them, and they prefer to spend their time in the more spacious environment of his officer's quarters on the other side of the campus.

Her eyes are red, and as Spock looks around, taking in the the room, she knows he understands. She's sitting on Gaila's bed, the bed that's still covered with all the items she wasn't able to fit into her regulation Starfleet luggage. Unchanged by time, except everything has changed. Her effusive Orion roommate is one of numerous cadets who will never be coming back to their dorms, blown to pieces by the Romulan ship that still haunts her nightmares.

“ _Nashaut_ ,” she murmurs, using that deliciously intimate Vulcan greeting that's only for them.

“ _Na'shaya,”_ is his clipped reply, and he avoids meeting her eyes. “Nyota,” he adds in that same flat tone, regarding her coolly.

His careful use of the standard greeting, rather than the one used between bonded pairs, speaks volumes. Normally Spock's Vulcan flows with the intimacy and love he feels for her, the rhythmic cadence of his native language serving as a conduit for lover's words that sound awkward and stilted in Standard. The greeting she just heard was cold and devoid of feeling, a stark contrast.

“ _Taluhk nash-veh k'dular (I cherish thee),”_ he whispers to her sometimes when they make love, in tones so ragged and lustful that she can't believe that voice belongs to the same man who calls her _Lieutenant Uhura_ on the bridge. The man who presses his fingers to her psi points and lets her feel his overwhelming want and desire for her, the bright heat of their combined release surging through the link between their minds. That Spock is capable of being so loving and open is a secret only she knows, and she thrills at knowing it's only for her.

Spock examines Gaila's possessions with interest, and she can tell he's resisting the compulsion to tell her that it would be more efficient to simply stack the deceased cadet's personal effects in a box one by one, rather than sorting through the gaudy piles of items that are strewn all over the bed. But this is the way she remembers Gaila – chaotic, beautiful and so _much_ – and she wants to hold onto her for just a little longer.

Picking up a garish ring with twinkling gemstones - no doubt of Orion manufacture - Nyota feels something bubble to the surface. All the anguish and horror she has had to lock away to focus on her duty surges without warning, and she weeps, her fingers clutching the ring so hard that the metal makes impressions in her palm.

Nyota does not expect Spock to offer empty platitudes or apologies. She does not expect him to hold her, especially not after the icy manner in which he greeted her. But even a Vulcan sometimes defies predictability. His expression is impassive, almost curious as he regards her for one long moment, and then he crosses the room and enfolds her in his arms.

She cries for Gaila, for everyone they lost – the tears he can't cry – and he's warm, _so warm_ against her as her fingers curl against his shirt, grasping for an anchor to hold on to even as the tide pulls her under. Her tears are making his uniform jacket wet, but if it bothers him, he says nothing. He is stone against her, solid and dependable and silent.

Spock's fingers carefully stroke her hair, and she is touched by his clumsy attempt at a human gesture of comfort. As her sobs cease, his body tenses and he pulls away. 

“Nyota, I realise this may not be an appropriate time, but I must speak with you on a matter of urgency.” 

A chill slithers down her spine, and she waits for what she's feared the whole voyage back.

Every time they'd sought physical comfort in each other since the destruction of Nero, Spock had been different, holding himself back, refusing to meld with her and share his thoughts. Each burning press of his mouth and fingers against her body had been achingly slow and methodical, until she'd _begged_ for him to fuck her, his fingers tight and possessive on her hips as he buried himself in her wet heat, his face taut with concentration like he wanted to commit every inch of her to his eidetic memory. As though he was sure that there were only a finite number of times left to them to be together like this.

She realises now that is exactly what he was doing, and that she knew. They'd both known and said nothing, preferring to delay the inevitable. That even Spock is capable of lying to himself stirs something deep inside her, and she blinks back the tears that are threatening to return.

“You're leaving.” He says nothing, his keen eyes searching her face for a reaction, and that's when she knows it's true.

“The Vulcan elders, including my father, are currently searching for a suitable planet on which to establish a colony for survivors. I must assist in the efforts to rebuild my race.”

“Of course,” she agrees, her voice far away and numb with grief. She would never ask him to stay for her, and he knows this better than anyone. Nor would he ask her to go with him and give up her Starfleet career. 

“It is only -”

“Logical,” she finishes for him, with a faint smile. 

“Yes,” he says quietly, his hands still in his lap as he looks down at them. “I hoped you would understand that my duty is with my people.”

“And mine is on the _Enterprise._ ” The calmness of her reply surprises her, but in the face of so much death and destruction, the situation of two people seems to matter little.

He swallows. “I would never want you to give up a promising future. Starfleet will require your talents for a good while longer, I anticipate.”

“And your people will need yours,” she agrees. He absently reaches up to tug at his ear, betraying how uncomfortable he feels, and it's just so undeniably human and _Spock_ that there's a sudden lump in her throat _._ He's still her beautiful Spock, who bridges the gap between two worlds with such aplomb, even when he doesn't realise it.

“Where does that leave us?” she forces herself to ask, even if she already knows the answer.

“Unable to continue as we are.” He's unable to keep the emotion out of his voice, and she can feel how torn he is, caught between what he wants, and what he knows he must do. The choice between a world that he has never felt at home in, and the home-world that has never accepted him, that led him to seek the stars in the hope of finding a place for himself. His desire to be both the logician and her lover, when right now he is struggling to balance the two.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“I believe that is the Terran phrase most commonly attributed to these circumstances.” 

His reply is thoroughly Vulcan, but his actions unmistakeably human. He reaches out and takes her hand. In his haste to touch her, he hasn't maintained his mental shields and she feels a deep well of pain and – _anger?_ Its intensity shocks her, and she gasps at the onslaught of emotion that simmers beneath his placid surface. 

Spock is hurting. More than she even imagined. It stuns her, and she longs to take him in her arms and bring him comfort like he just did for her.

He draws back, clasping his hands behind him in his customary fashion, almost as if he doesn't trust himself not to touch her again.

“I am sorry. I did not intend to cause you pain.” 

“Spock,” she says softly, placing her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. It's an innocent enough gesture, but he tenses at the touch.

“Nyota, I wish that -”

“Vulcans wish?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I am merely attempting to use your vernacular to explain to you how difficult I find the idea that I will have to leave you. If things were different, I would -” Words fail him again. Spock, who can always convey an idea with clarity, is speechless.

Nyota's stomach lurches, and she finds she is angry at Spock for revealing this. Far better that he had explained to her in his cool tones how it was the logical choice for them to separate, before leaving her to cry in peace. How dare he torture her with what might be? 

“But things aren't different,” she snaps, and his eyes narrow. “You've made your choice, let me make mine.”

She stands up, thinking only of leaving, but she's dragged back before she can take one step.

“No,” he says roughly, and then he's right there, his body pressing her into the wall, hard and unyielding.

Spock's eyes meet hers, and she can feel him hesitate, muscles tensing as his hands rest on her shoulders.

“Please,” she whispers, and it's enough to break him. The dark eyes flash, and then his mouth is on hers, gentle and wet as he grinds his hips against her, letting her feel his obvious arousal.

Nyota knows they're only postponing the pain, but she doesn't care.

She wraps her arms round his neck and returns the kiss, biting on his lower lip as his hand tightens on her hip and he pulls her towards him.

Her buttons work at his uniform jacket, push it off his shoulders, and he tugs his undershirt over his head. He does not bother to divest her of any clothing, simply reaches under her skirt and tears away her underwear. Hot fingers slip against her, finding her already soaking wet, and Spock makes an uncharacteristically alien noise that almost sounds like a growl.

She lets him lift her, press her back against the startling coolness of the wall as she lets her knees fall open, wraps her legs round his hips.

He fumbles at his belt, the other hand holding her up with easy strength. And then he's there, right there, spreading her open and pressing deep inside with one swift stroke.

When they lock eyes, his face wears the same blank expression it always does, but his breaths are as shaky and unsteady as hers, and his eyes are dark and full of a desperation only she can perceive as he begins to move.

Nyota clutches at his back, nails dragging on his heated skin as his hips snap into hers in a punishing rhythm.

Spock avoids their hands touching, obviously not wanting her to know his thoughts, but she gets echoes of them anyway. The hands that dig into her hips hard enough to bruise, the deep, harsh thrusts of his body into hers, and the quiet pants against her forehead tell her more than his thoughts ever could. 

She moans quietly, then louder, slipping into cries of his name, allowing herself to find some kind of emotional catharsis in this. It's not as if there's even anyone left alive on her floor to hear. 

His fingers slide from her hip, down to the spot where they join, spreading the moisture he finds there as he traces frantic circles. Coupled with the burning friction of him inside her, it's enough to send her over the edge, searing heat surging through her entire body as her climax engulfs her.

Spock goes rigid against her, and with one deep, shattering thrust, he finds his own release.

"Nyota," he whispers against her hair, his voice low and full of the raw emotion that doesn't show on his face.

He sets her on her feet carefully, and Nyota tugs down her uniform skirt, smoothes her hair, tries to ignore the sticky pulsing between her thighs that feels like he's still inside her.

Glancing at her hands, she examines the traces of green under her fingernails that match the scratches on his back. A parting gift of sorts: the last marks made by her he will ever bear upon his skin. He quickly covers them up with his uniform. 

His fingers trace her cheek, and just as quickly, they're gone. 

“ _Ti'amah (let me go), Nyota,”_ he intones softly, briefly switching to his native Vulcan. 

She can't stop her tears and he stops, frozen on the spot, although he does not turn. His back stiffens, and his hands are clutched into fists at his sides. 

“Then go, Spock,” she chokes out.

Without a backward glance, he leaves. It doesn't escape her notice that his fingers shake as they press the door control.


	2. Fissures

Spock opens the bathroom cabinet, takes out the dermakit and examines the scratches covering his back under the harsh light of the mirror. 

He reaches for the box, but something makes him hesitate. 

After all, they are only superficial scratches. It would be best not to waste valuable Starfleet medical supplies on such minor injuries. Spock decides that letting the scratches heal on their own would be the logical choice. 

He dresses for the presentation ceremony, checks his PADD for messages. Captain Pike is much improved despite the extensive damage to his nervous system. Spock is pleased that Starfleet will not lose one of its most skilled captains. Pike's message also notes that the _Enterprise_ crew have three weeks of shore leave.

It is illogical for him to take any interest in this, as he is currently without a commission and plans to resign his post and accompany the Vulcan elders to their new colony.

As illogical as it is for him to wonder where Nyota will be sitting in the lecture hall.

* * *

 Unable to sleep despite the late hour, Spock flicks through the list on his PADD and opens an article on Trill morphology. It proves to be most interesting. Thinking that Nyota would like to read it, he takes out his comm, filled with the sudden urge to contact her. Staring at the display, he notes it reads 0 _3.47._ Too early.

After the strange conversation he had earlier with his counterpart, he was tempted to go straight to Nyota's quarters. However, he wasn't sure what he might say. He instead went to see his father, who he felt had not quite understood his reasons, but accepted his decision to remain in Starfleet. 

He knew enough from observing shipboard relationships and his years at the Academy to know that it was customary for both parties to give each other space after the ending of a relationship. 

The thought crosses his mind that if he is not to leave Starfleet after all, perhaps it did not have to end. 

He tells himself he does not miss her, for that is a human impulse he is unable to experience. Vulcans do not dream, he reminds himself as he lies back against his pillows and once more tries to calm himself enough to sleep.

When Spock wakes, hot and tangled in his sheets, his erection pressed against his thigh, his mind full of her scent and taste and the way it feels when their bodies join, he is shamed by his lack of restraint. He reminds himself that is nothing more than a physical response, something he can attribute to the half-human part of him. 

The part that is _weak_.

At least his Vulcan physiology allows him control over certain bodily functions. He breathes deeply and concentrates until he feels the crashing waves of lust and heat ebb away.

1.4 hours later, he is still unable to fall back to sleep. He calculates there is a 84.3% chance that he will not sleep at all tonight if he does not attempt to bring his thoughts under control. 

An image of her flashes across his thoughts, unbidden. Nyota asleep in his bed, her warm head pillowed on his thighs while he reads a PADD. Vulcans do not need as much sleep as humans do, but Nyota disliked sleeping without him next to her, and that was the compromise they had come to. He would work while she slept. At the time he had pointed out that it was illogical for him to remain, because in a state of slumber she was not even aware of his presence, but Nyota had protested. Sometimes he would find his hand in her hair, caressing the strands absent-mindedly. It was a most pleasant experience, and he found on those nights she slept on him that his productivity increased by 7.8%. 

It's not at all erotic, not like the thoughts that disturbed his sleep, but it unexpectedly makes his stomach twist, almost to the point where he fears he will vomit. He sits up in bed, gasping, and it takes a full minute for his breathing to even out.

Spock considers the strange physical reaction he has just experienced. He has not eaten anything unusual, and drunk his usual 2.5 glasses of water this evening as required to maintain optimal brain and bodily function. He makes a mental note to seek out Doctor McCoy tomorrow. The man's sense of propriety left something to be desired – indeed, Nyota had described him as 'grumpy' – but his medical skills and knowledge of alien physiology were unmatched in Starfleet.

Yes, Doctor McCoy would know what to do.

Spock gets up, puts on a robe and sits before his _asenoi_ , keeping his focus on the flame as he attempts to meditate once more. There was a time where he could meditate for hours, luxuriating in the clarity of his thoughts. That has not happened since the _Enterprise_ left the docking bay to answer Vulcan's distress call. 

_/nyota/_

_/need you/_  

 _/yes/_  

_/now/_

His thoughts are chaotic, unfocused, and full of her; he decides there is little point in continuing. Abandoning his meditation, he brews a cup of spiced tea and drinks it slowly as he watches the sun's light bleed into the sky, the reddish purple mixing with the gold on the horizon. Earth's sun is weak compared to Vulcan's, but he thinks the two are aesthetically comparable. _Were_ , he corrects himself. 

It was the moon his mother missed most about living away from Earth. To Spock it was just another colony with inferior gravity, but his mother harboured illogical, romantic notions about its beauty, probably from the Terran poetry and prose she loved to read. 

Spock has not raised his window shades at night for some time, preferring not to see the moon. 

* * *

 Doctor McCoy looks surprised when Spock enters the campus medical bay, but recovers himself enough to greet him warmly. 

“Commander Spock! What brings you here?” he asks. 

“I have experienced an unusual reaction, Doctor. I find myself unable to sleep and with stomach pains. It is most unpleasant.” 

The doctor says little, motions for Spock to lie on the biobed and begins scanning him with a tricorder. McCoy frowns, peering at the display. 

“Well, I can't see anything wrong. Your heart rate is slightly elevated, it's currently operating at -” 

“- 284 beats per minute, yes.” 

McCoy looks nonplussed, before a flicker of understanding crosses his face and Spock surmises that the doctor is recalling his knowledge of basic Vulcan physiology. 

“Man, that is freaky. I always forget that Vulcans can control their own metabolic functions.”

“It is a most useful ability at times, doctor. However, I find myself increasingly unable to control it.”

McCoy sits back on his desk and sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Spock, there's no physical explanation for your stomach pains or elevated heart rate. ”

Spock allows himself to feel relieved for a brief moment, but then he picks up on the meaning in the doctor's words. If the explanation is not physical, then it must be...

“Now I know you're not going to agree with me here, but I think your physical symptoms are rooted in your mental state.”

“I hardly think so, doctor. I am Vulcan, we do not allow our minds to be in such a state as to affect us physically.”

“Spock, you throttled Jim on the bridge!” McCoy says, losing his cool. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that you're not affected by your recent experiences at all?” 

“Thank you for reminding me of that, doctor,” Spock replies coolly, beginning to regret his earlier positive appraisal of the doctor's medical credentials. “Truly, I would not have remembered had you not thought to bring it up.” 

“Is that sarcasm?” Spock raises an eyebrow in response, and he's surprised when McCoy laughs, a hearty chuckle. “Spock, I'm impressed. Never thought you had it in you.” 

“Look, I can refer you to counselling,” the doctor adds, and his gruff tone has softened, his expression kinder. “We have a counselor on staff who spent time on Vulcan during her training. She is used to the er – emotional restraint shown by Vulcans.” 

“I thank you for your advice, but I do not believe that is required.”

“Very well. I can only make the suggestion as your attending physician, as long as it does not affect your fitness for duty.”

“I understand.” There is an awkward pause. “Doctor McCoy, should I return to the _Enterprise_ , I would rather that Captain Kirk was not informed about this.” 

McCoy holds up his hands. “Doctor-patient confidentiality, Spock. He won't hear of it.”

“Do try and relax, won't you, and enjoy the time off?”

“Vulcans do not 'relax', doctor, but I will endeavour to exist in a state of relative contentment until another commission becomes available _._ I note the _Enterprise_ has not yet finished her repairs. _”_ Spock is surprised to find himself using the feminine pronoun to refer to the ship, a practice he has always found highly illogical.

One of his mother's strange idioms comes to mind. _“When in Rome...”_

There's a flash of pain, sudden and white hot like he's been punched in the gut.

No. He is not ready to think of his mother. This is most unlike him, to experience such a loss of emotional control during an everyday conversation. His only explanation for this strange behaviour is that Doctor McCoy's line of questioning has unsettled him.

“Fair enough,” says McCoy. “And there was me thinking everyone was having more fun than me. Jim's working his way through half the female cadets on campus, Chekhov, Scotty and Sulu are hiking in Yosemite, and Uhura's gone to Nairobi to visit her family. What about you, Spock? Any plans?” 

Spock feels himself visibly stiffen. Nyota was away and had not even thought to tell him. He knew her sister Makena was heavily pregnant, so perhaps she had delivered and Nyota had gone to visit the new family member.

He feels the twisting feeling in his gut once more, and rationalises that he has eaten nothing today, therefore it must indicate that he requires nourishment. 

“Spock, are you alright?” asks the doctor, regarding him curiously.

Spock hastily arranges his features into an appropriately blank expression. “Yes, doctor. I have some research to catch up on. My father and the other Vulcan elders departed the planet yesterday for the new colony, prior to this I was busy helping them make arrangements. I note that you are not taking any leave, Doctor McCoy. Do you not also require time to relax?”

“It's either work here or be forced to see my ex-wife.” The doctor shudders. “It seems that our near-death experience in space has made her want to reconsider things, but hell no. I barely made it out of that marriage alive the first time. I told her Starfleet weren't willing to give me time off.”

“I see.” Spock was reminded of how humans could be exceedingly strange. “Thank you, Doctor McCoy.” 

“Take care, Spock. Maybe I'll see you back on the _Enterprise._ ”

“Perhaps, Doctor.” 

Spock takes his lunch alone at a quiet table in the canteen, away from the chatter of the cadets. He eats the required amount to sustain him but notices the food seems to have little taste. _Strange._ He considers the unsettling exchange with McCoy, the way he had reacted merely to the mention of Nyota's name.

Scanning through technical reports on his PADD, he sees that the _Enterprise_ will be ready for duty in seven days. He knows that Admiral Komack has considered sending the flagship on a five-year mission.

Spock swallows. It would seem to be imperative that he was able to return to his post on the _Enterprise._ Bringing up his email, he taps out a brief message to Admiral Pike.

* * *

 Leonard McCoy remains preoccupied long after he watches the tall Vulcan stride from the room. For some reason, he was struck by the way Spock freaked out at the mention of Uhura's name. God knows Spock had suffered enough tragedy of late to render him ill, but something just didn't seem to fit.

Stomach pains, lack of sleep? If he didn't know any better he'd say the Commander was _heartsick._ He scans his memory, recalling subtle glances on the bridge, the way Spock's eyes seemed to follow Uhura like a magnet. Surely they couldn't be...

_No._

It must be the stress of the mission causing him to crack up. Or perhaps it's simply the tedium of the campus medical practice, which primarily consists of dealing with tearful cadets and their relationship problems, and doling out prophylactics. For the remainder of the morning, McCoy is distracted. He barks at the nurses even more than usual, ignores three phone calls from his ex-wife and finds himself thinking longingly of the bottle of aged bourbon hidden behind a stack of PADDs on Andorian anatomy.

Goddamn space. It was sending him crazy.

* * *

The fact that Jim Kirk has allowed him to return to his role as First Officer aboard the _Enterprise_ brings Spock more relief than he is willing to admit.

He crosses to his station, knowing Nyota is there just behind the glass. He feels his heart rate infinitesimally begin to rise; a physical reaction to her presence. He nods at her and she returns his nod with a dazzling smile she seems unable to suppress.

Spock is slightly surprised, considering he had left her in tears. Perhaps it would not be so hard to persuade her that they had made a hasty decision. However, when she returns to her station, she does not look at him, and he thinks that he must have misinterpreted her reaction. It would not be the first time he had failed to read human behaviour correctly. He takes a seat at his console, and listens to Kirk detail their mission to investigate Nibiru, a Class M planet located in the Beta Quadrant.

Nyota does not look at him, and he does not look at her as the engines rumble and the ship goes to warp. 

Thankfully, there is more than enough to keep him occupied. They have received reports of an infestation of blastoneurons on the colony Deneva, and Spock finds himself absorbed in the analysis of these fascinating parasites.

Unfortunately, 1.5 hours into the shift, Nyota swivels in her chair and he is hit by the heady, jasmine scent of her shampoo. He fights the urge to inhale deeply, and is suddenly acutely aware of every movement she makes, every small sigh and tap of her fingers on the console. It is becoming unbearable to be so near to her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her update the subspace logs and make a start on translating a possible Romulan transmission. Since Nero there has been an unusually high level of transmissions originating from the Neutral Zone, something the Federation are becoming increasingly concerned about. 

So absorbed is Spock in watching Nyota, that he belatedly realises the captain has called his name twice.

“Spock! Tactical reports, please.” Spock turns his chair around and notes that Kirk looks amused. 

“Apologies, Captain. Sending them to your PADD immediately.”

Spock does not look at Nyota, but can sense her watching him thoughtfully.

Hours later, he asks her to join him for dinner in the mess hall. For one terrible moment, he thinks she will say no, but she nods and follows him without a word.

It's not busy. Nyota easily secures a quiet table. Spock orders two servings of plomeek soup and kreyla from the replicator. Upon receiving it, he pauses, realising her did not ask her what she wanted. 

“Is this acceptable?” he asks awkwardly. 

“Affirmative,” she says with a small smile. He knows she is making fun of him, but her eyes are kind. Nyota has always teased him relentlessly, but he finds that with her, he does not mind. She has never expected him to be anything but who he is, and he has always afforded her the same courtesy. 

He shakes two spice sachets over his soup – it is much blander than the spicier version he makes, his mother's recipe – and dips the hard Vulcan flatbread in the soup to soften it. 

They talk. He is careful to listen attentively, to speak with intonation and change his tone in all the right places as she tells about her recent visit to Nairobi. Her sister has given birth to a son, and he notes that his speculation on the reason for her journey was correct. Spock asks after Makena's health, and observes the holos of baby Chitundu that she shows him on her PADD. He muses that human and Vulcan infants look entirely the same, except for the ears. Both looked rather scrunchy and were prone to excessive displays of emotion, in Spock's experience. 

After a while, Nyota puts her spoon down and steeples her fingers. She looks straight at him.

“I can't do this, Spock. I can't pretend like nothing's happened. When are we going to talk about this? One minute you were leaving for Vulcan and I was never going to see you again, and now you're here.”

“I did not anticipate that this would be a problem, Nyota. I assumed, perhaps incorrectly, that now the situation has changed and I am remaining on the _Enterprise_ , you would be pleased.”

He pauses. “Forgive me, I must explain why I did not accompany my family.”

“I know, Kirk told me,” she replies, and Spock finds that strangely, he does not mind this at all. “It's kind of freaky to think that there is another you out there. I happen to think one Spock is more than enough for this universe.” 

It takes him a moment to realise she is joking again. His hand twitches, he wants to touch her so much, and he draws it back to the edge of the table.

“Perhaps. As a result, I propose that I may have been somewhat hasty in my suggestion that we discontinue our relationship.” 

The silence swells between them as he waits for her reply. 

“Spock, I need a little time to process this.” 

It is not the answer he expects. He thinks of asking how much time she will require – 4 hours, 3.2 Terran days, a week, a month? Spock decides to keep this thought to himself. Something tells him that Nyota would not appreciate it.

She takes her tray, leaving half her soup and flatbread uneaten. It is not like Nyota to refuse nourishment, and it concerns him to see that she has not eaten enough to satisfy her daily calorie requirements. 

He drops his voice so that nobody will hear. “Nyota. Please wait. I -”

The word _ashayam_ is on his lips, to tell her she is his beloved, and that has not changed, but the word sticks in his throat, and he does not say it.

Nyota gives a sigh of frustration and departs.

Spock ends up pushing his own food away after a few more bites, conscious of the sudden and unwelcome discomfort in his stomach.

* * *

Eight days later, at exactly 02.39 hours, Spock sits cross-legged before his  _asenoi_ , his thoughts steady and quiet as he inhabits the subconscious levels of his mind.

The chime rings again, and this time Spock notices. He does not open his eyes, but he already feels her presence.

_/nyota/_

_/come/_

The words seep through his thoughts, and though he does not speak them aloud, she comes in anyway.

“Lights at fifty per cent,” says Nyota, and he hears the squeak of her boots as she steps into his quarters.

“I'm sorry. You were meditating.”

Letting his eyes flicker open, Spock gets up and turns to her. He notices that the soft light makes her dark skin appear luminous and entirely too touchable. A most distracting thought. 

Hours of careful control of his mind has clearly not helped to subdue his body's reactions to her. His pulse thrums beneath his skin, and he can feel himself flushing in the half-light as images flicker across his mind of her in his bed, unclothed.

“It is of no consequence. Are you well, Nyota? At this late hour you would normally be asleep.”

“I wanted to tell you I've come to a decision.”

“You have?” He lets no emotion show on his face, but his heart rate creeps up.  _260_ beats per minute _. 264. 271. 280._  Every beat crashes in his ear, so distractingly loud that he feels she must be able to hear it, even though it is illogical to think that. Of course she cannot hear it.

When she crosses the room and places her hand over his, he wants nothing more than to hold her, but fears losing his already fragile emotional control. He settles for holding her hand, and laces his fingers into hers. He does not shield his thoughts from her, and impressions from both their minds reverberate the instant their fingers touch. There's confusion, heated waves of desire, and a cold loneliness that is painfully familiar to him.

“I can't be without you, Spock.” Her eyes are wet.

The knots in his stomach untwist, and he dimly registers that perhaps Doctor McCoy was right after all.

“And it seems I am unable to be without you, Nyota. Therefore, I propose that it would be logical to resume our relationship.”

“You really know how to make a girl weak at the knees, Spock.” But she's smiling, and Spock feels an illogical wave of hope. 

“I am sorry for the pain I have caused you," he says carefully, unsure how she will react.

“We’ve all been in a lot of pain. There’s no need to apologise.” 

She removes her hand from his, looks away, and he can see her eyes glistening with the tears she is fighting not to shed. He knows this is for his benefit, and it bothers him that Nyota is suppressing her emotions like this. Although, considering what happened the last time she cried in his presence, perhaps it is for the best. He allows her to calm herself, waits for her breathing to return to normal before he speaks again.

“Indeed. Nearly everyone on this ship appears to have lost someone close to them. The fact that Starfleet have insisted a ship’s counselor accompany this mission is understandable. I have noticed that humans express their grief in a variety of ways, from humour to anger.”

She looks up at him curiously, and Spock feels further explanation is required. 

“When I was a small boy, my Terran grandmother died. I had not known her well, so it meant little to me, however it had a great impact on my mother. She dealt with her grief in a manner that seemed most peculiar. Sometimes she would talk of her and tell stories, look through holos of her past life on Earth, and at other times she would lock herself in the bedroom and cry for hours at a time. It alarmed my father, but, in time, she ceased to express her grief in that way.”

“That sounds pretty normal, Spock. It must have been hard for you and your father, unable to relate to what she was going through.” 

“It was – painful. Vulcans share familial bonds, and I felt her grief keenly. It was a feeling I did not understand, however, until recent events.” Spock averts his gaze, sure that if he meets her eyes and sees the selfless pity and understanding held within them, he will be unable to prevent an emotional outburst. His heart starts to race again, and he closes his eyes, concentrating in an attempt to bring his feelings under control. It has little effect.

To his own surprise, he grasps her hand and draws it to his chest. She slides her fingers over until she finds the place where his heart is, and he knows she can feel the rapid beating of his Vulcan heart against his bare skin. He says nothing, but her face softens as she feels the one physical manifestation of his grief he cannot hide. 

“Oh, Spock. How can you bear it?”

 She had said as much to him previously, in the weeks following Nero's destruction. He never understood it before, and told her that it was merely a case of processing the emotional responses over time. An overly simplistic assessment, to say the least.

“I do not know,” he admits quietly, his hand trembling in hers. She reaches up to touch his face.

“ _Tushah nash-veh k'du (I grieve with thee),”_ she whispers, her warm hand curving against his cheek, and it makes a place inside him ache. To hear her speak his language conjures up images of the red-gold sands and jagged rock formations of Vulcan, places he always meant to show Nyota one day. A future that is gone. But in its place she is here, and she is warm and alive and accepting of him. Spock is aware that he is immeasurably grateful for this, more than she knows. 

“I am sorry for the loss of Cadet Gaila. I regret that I did not tell you that.” He finds his choice of words to be distinctly irrational, as it makes no sense to apologise for something that he played no part in. However, it is a common human response, and he wishes Nyota to know that he has considered her feelings over the death of a close friend. 

“Thank you, Spock.” She is obviously touched by his effort to understand her feelings. “It’ll get easier in time. Only time can heal grief.”

“Yes,” he acknowledges, careful to keep any expression out of his voice.

There are drops of moisture clinging to her lashes, and he touches them gently.

He’s surprised when Nyota laughs. “You know, I think Gaila would have definitely approved of what we did in that room.” Even through his embarrassment, Spock is amazed at the human capacity to experience many different emotional states at once. Unlike many of his own people, he does not see it as a failing, but rather something to be admired.

“I assure you I did not intend that to be the result of our conversation. I took advantage of you when you were vulnerable.”

Nyota holds up a hand to silence him. “No, you didn’t. I think in that moment, it was what we needed. Like you said, we humans have our own ways of dealing with grief. And you _are_ half-human, after all.”

He decides to drop the subject, as Nyota is clearly not troubled by it. She turns, her ponytail whipping behind her, and he can see she intends to leave. The thought makes the cold emptiness inside him return. 

“I disturbed your meditation,” she says by way of explanation. 

“Stay.” It is not one of the many words that filters through his mind--lover’s endearments he cannot say--but for now, it is enough. Spock longs to show her what he cannot express in words, to join their bodies, open the connection between their minds and allow her feel everything he does. 

But not tonight. For tonight, it is enough to hold her. He steps into her space, his hands finding her hips. Nyota winds her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, and he kisses her, weak with the relief that she is here and she is _his. T_ hey lie on his bed, sharing the silence in the dark until she falls asleep. Spock meditates, and in Nyota Uhura’s presence, experiences a stillness he has not felt in weeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heartbroken Spock is kind of adorkable. I'm not 100% happy with this chapter, I've rewritten it several times already. I hope Spock seems at least relatively in character and not too neurotic and emo.
> 
> *** You may notice I have rewritten the entire ending scene of this chapter, for the reason that I didn't think the tone quite fit. I wanted Spock and Nyota to have some time to grow back together, and also to have her own grief over Gaila acknowledged as much as Spock's over his mother. Hope you're all okay with it. ***
> 
> ** Also, if Spock's heartbeat seems dangerously high, Vulcan hearts beat way faster than human hearts so I had to compensate for that and up the figure. Bad science. **
> 
> I've played a bit fast and loose with the post Star Trek timeline. I'm sure they had a few months off ship, but in mine it's only been a few weeks (my heart cannot handle breaking these two up for months, seriously).  
> 


	3. Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for being ridiculously slow at updating this, I've jumped down the rabbit hole of TNG fic and it swallowed me for a while (do check it out if that's your thing).

She’s going to _kill_ Jim Kirk.

Nyota stamps out of the room, her boots striking the deck with a force that’s unnecessary but makes her feel better.

She’d just about managed to forgive him for taunting Spock into an emotional outburst in the wake of his mother’s death, and then he’d gone and done something even stupider.

In his ridiculous ship-wide Valentine’s Day broadcast, he’d told the entire damn ship they were seeing each other. She knows that it was inevitable – after all, Spock and her are seen together enough to get tongues wagging - but she’d hoped they’d have a little more time before having to take the relationship public. Scotty and Ensign Jacobs had been far more discreet than she’d expected with regard to what they’d witnessed before Spock and Kirk had transported to the _Narada_ that day. Perhaps it had lulled her into a false sense of security.

Ever since their recent reunion, she wants to feel that what Spock and her have is private and just for them. They’ve been growing back together, taking the time to understand each other and regain trust in the idea of their relationship. She knows he still feels guilt over hurting her, and her repeated attempts to dissuade him from this have had little effect. They haven't yet resumed the physical aspect of their relationship, both not wanting to pressure each other, but it's something that she wants to keep between the two of them.

Nyota sometimes wishes she didn’t possess such acute aural sensitivity or understand so many Federation languages; as a result, she hears far more speculation about their relationship than she wants to.

She remembers a discussion they had about it the previous night. _“Nyota, for my penis to exhibit bioluminescence, I would have to produce an enzyme which Vulcans do not possess. Surely the female ensigns in the science lab must know this. Therefore, it is illogical for them to suggest, as you say, that I have a ‘glowing green cock’.”_ Spock had told her this in his usual serious tone, but with a twitch at the corner of his lip that was about as close as he ever got to a smile. At least one of them was taking this in good humour.

“Lieutenant Uhura,” the Captain says, smiling broadly in a way that would make her kick him in the gonads if he wasn’t her superior officer. “You’re looking tired this morning. Late night with lover boy?”

Uhura grits her teeth and says nothing, recites Starfleet regulations in her head regarding assaults upon superior officers. _Not worth the court-martial_ , she chants silently as she scans subspace frequencies for any transmissions of interest. They’ll reach Nibiru in twenty hours, and although the Nibirans are thought to be a primitive, pre-warp species, there could be advanced life in one of the nearby systems, and the thought excites the explorer within her. She's reminded of the little girl who spent nights sleeping on the roof in Nairobi with her telescope, just to catch a glimpse of a rarely-seen shooting star, and is strangely glad that her adventurous spirit is still there after all.

* * *

She finds Spock in the lab examining a small metal device.

“What’s that?”

“A prototype cold fusion device that Ensign Jakra has been working on.” Spock nodded to the ensign at the nearest station, who shot him a brief, if dazed smile. “It is quite ingenious. When activated, it initiates a thermonuclear reaction, which, upon detonation, absorbs even intense heat.”

Nyota hid her own smile at the young man’s obvious pride at being praised by Commander Spock. Spock was sometimes so oblivious to how many of the crew worshipped him. After hearing about his exploits on the _Narada_ , there were many nods and loud congratulations from the men, and flirtatious smiles from the women (and some men) that spiked an irrational, possessive irritation within her.

 “And I thought we were only supposed to be observing the Nibirans.”

“Their planet has been experiencing significant volcanic activity. As a result, the Captain has decided it would be prudent to take precautions.” He’s still being serious Science Officer Spock, but he touches her lightly on the wrist, just enough for her to feel the potent wave of desire seeping through him.

Nyota looks up to see two junior officers trying not to stare. “I’ll see you tonight,” she says loudly, deciding that they might as well embrace their new-found notoriety.

Spock raises an eyebrow in return before turning back to his task.

* * *

 It’s night, but the view from the window is the same as ever, of stars slipping past at breathtaking speed.

Her fingers hover over the door controls, the door opens before she’s even touched it, and Spock is there before her. The door has barely shut before his hands are on her, drawing her closer. His forehead rests against hers, his skin burning hot enough to make her feel feverish in the already elevated temperature of his quarters.

“I can turn down the environmental controls,” he tells her, his voice low and heavy in a way she’s not heard in too long.

“No,” she says, reaching down to unzip her boots and kick them away, and he copies her. Spock pulls off his uniform shirts, carelessly dropping them in a heap on the carpet in a very un-orderly, un-Vulcan fashion. His fingers find the hem of her dress and tug it upwards, and there’s a hint of a smile on his lips when the neckline gets stuck on her ponytail and he has to gently wiggle it free.

 “ _Spokh,”_  she murmurs, pronouncing his name in perfectly accented Vulcan, and it’s gratifying to hear his sharp intake of breath.

They remove the rest of their garments, leaving nothing in the way of skin on skin. Spock stands naked before her without any move to cover himself, and Nyota thinks how fucking _beautiful_ he is. For all his Vulcan propriety, Spock has never been shy about sex, something she’s grateful for. After all, it’s an inherently logical act, the release of tension and oxytocin produced necessary to keep couples bonded.

The first time they made love, her hands shook while she undressed him, but he was confident enough for the both of them, slipping practised fingers between her thighs while asking in his quiet way what felt best for her. It wasn’t lack of experience that had made her so shy, but rather that she felt so much for him, and it terrified her. He hadn’t reached for her mind that night. That part came later.

With one step, he closes the distance between them, a warm, hard body leaning into her as one hand wraps round the back of her neck. She can feel the heated spike of arousal transmitted by his touch, and she knows he can sense exactly the same from her. When she brings her lips to his tentatively, he does not respond immediately, but she can feel his ragged breaths and the solid heat of him pressing against her stomach, and it’s almost more than she can bear.

 _“Ashayam,”_ he whispers, and then he is kissing her with a force that nearly makes her overbalance, his mouth wet and hot as his hips grind into hers. She grips powerful shoulders, enjoying the way the muscles flex under her touch, before one hand slides lower to find the curves of his buttocks.

Pulling away, she sinks to her knees, wrapping hands around his hips to bring him closer to her waiting mouth. When he sees what she intends, he makes a sound that’s barely audible but could be a soft hiss.

She licks along the length of him, keeping her eyes fixed on his the whole time, and they’re dark with a barely-suppressed desire only she would know was there. Just as she slides the heat of his cock deeper into her mouth, firm hands are on her shoulders, gently but insistently pulling her back.

 _“I plan on making this time last,”_ he tells her in his most serious Vulcan, and she smiles in understanding.

Warm hands lift her effortlessly, deposit her on the bed and part her legs, exposing her for him, slick and wet. Soft black hair brushes her thigh, he inhales deeply and she feels the visceral, illogical reaction he has to her scent even through their weak mind-link. When his mouth finds her, he makes a noise against her that might be a groan, and she’s powerless to stop the languid moans that fall from her lips as she squirms under his touch.

It bothered her at first, his near-silence in bed coupled with the loud, inappropriate noises she is unable to suppress under the onslaught of his pleasure. But Nyota has learned to read Spock, to note the barely-audible gasps, the heated, heavy breaths against her skin and the slight tensing of his features when he comes. There’s a quiet grace to his muted reactions that express none of the intense feeling he’s experiencing on the inside, and she has learned to love them just as she loves him.

Spock’s mouth is so hot on her that she's on the verge of coming apart in an instant, each careful, measured lick and press of his tongue over her flesh driving her mad and coiling the tension within her. She’s shaking, trembling and feels as though she might fly into pieces, her hips shifting against his mouth as she moans softly. His tongue circles her clit, fingers push inside and she can’t hold back, shaking as the tension breaks inside her and she shudders against his mouth. Spock’s dark eyes flicker to hers and his palm splays out flat against her stomach, holding her down as his mouth continues to coax small tremors from her body. Just when she’s so sensitive that she’s wriggling against him, begging for more but feeling over-stimulated, he sends her a visceral image of desire and she comes again, crying this time from the intensity of it.

He ascends her body, pressing slow kisses to her skin before resting his cheek against her chest, listening to the rapid beating of her fragile, human heart.

“Let me catch my breath for a second.” Nyota laughs and slumps back on the sheets, boneless and sated, her skin slick with sweat and her eyes thick with tears. She twitches, and it’s as if she can still feel his mouth on her.

Spock rolls off her and props himself up on an elbow, surveying her with curious eyes. His expression is impassive as ever, but she can detect a most un-Vulcan sentiment behind his eyes—obvious smugness and satisfaction.

“Trying to wear me out?” She grins wolfishly, knowing Spock will realise she isn’t serious.

He of course, is, and appears to consider her answer for a moment before responding. “That would not be an entirely satisfactory conclusion to the night’s events, I feel. Not that I am suggesting that it is unsatisfying to please you – quite the opposite. But I –“

Nyota presses a finger to his lips. “I know.” She trails her fingers down his taut, pale stomach, following the coarse dark hair she finds until she’s touching the extremely hard evidence of just how aroused Spock is. As calm as he appears, he can’t suppress a small gasp, his hips moving into her touch involuntarily.

“Lie down.” She flushes, and there’s a renewed tingle between her legs at the roughness in his voice. Running her hands up and down his back, tracing the taut muscles, she draws her thighs up over his hips, hearing an audible huff of breath against her cheek as he presses against where she’s wet and open for him.

His breath hitches as he pushes into her; it’s the most beautiful sound she’s heard in a long time. She winds hands round the back of his neck, whispers “come here,” and angles her hips to take him in deeper.

“Please,” he says roughly, a hand extended towards her face, and she nods, even though it wasn’t a question, and she feels how much he _needs_ to share every part of himself with her. His fingers find her psi points and the relief is immeasurable as their minds blend together; she thinks it must be the same for him, too. It’s been too long since he allowed himself to be vulnerable with her, and they’re not used to it. She’s seeing too much, too soon.

_/yes, nyota./_

_/spokh. mine. want you./_

_/always, nyota. /_

She links her fingers into his, tears springing to her eyes as he moves within her silently, reverently. And then she really sees. She sees his dreams, the images of her, the warmth he feels in her presence and the coldness he felt without her. Lonely, sleepless nights in a perfect, ordered apartment where there’s none of her laundry on the floor or the dirty plates she leaves in the sink. His _ache_ and longing for her that’s almost painful, and his anger at himself that she knows is still there.

Nyota tilts her hips into his, wrapping thighs tightly round his hips to bring him closer, wanting to sink into his skin and be _there_ , part of him. She kisses his cheeks, his eyes, his lips, flooding their bond with the strength of her love and admiration for him.

_/loveyouloveyouloveyou/_

_/you are everything to me/_

_/yes/_

_/love you/_

_/come/_

And she does, pulling him over the edge with her in a wet, hot rush of sensation, until she can barely tell where her own pleasure ends and his begins. When his hips finally still, he does not move, just presses an open-mouthed kiss to the flushed skin of her collarbone. His jaw is slack, the muscles of his face relaxed, but then his mind floods into hers, and she realises she was wrong to think that he was over any of it.

The pain roars into her mind, a rush of images and thoughts that flicker like the pulse beneath an injury, incomplete but she understands them all. A small boy sits on a terrace with his mother while she reads from a heavy Shakespeare tome, the fierce Vulcan sun hitting the canopy above their heads. The image shifts. A young man waits nervously in the chambers of the Vulcan Science Academy; there’s the touch of a warm hand on his face and pure love surges within him, as much as he tries to tamp down on that very human weakness. _“Whatever you choose to do, you will have a proud mother.”_

Spock presses his face to hers and wets his cheek with her tears, buries his face in her hair and holds her so tight it leaves her breathless. Abruptly, he withdraws, pulling the sheet tight around himself as he turns his face away.

“Spock,” she says gently – she knows him well enough not to attempt to touch him in this moment – but with a hint of irritation between her even words.

“I should not have allowed you to feel that,” he says after a long moment. “It was – selfish.”

Nyota shakes her head, indignant. “No. You’re a stubborn idiot.”

At that, he actually turns round and meets her eyes, and she’s filled with the strangest urge to laugh, because she may have just shocked Spock, of all people.

“What I mean is,” she continues hastily, “there’s nothing wrong with what you showed me. I know it’s not your way, and you’d rather not burden me with it, but I _love you_ , Spock. And I’m human, and when we’re hurting, we share that with the people we love, because we need them to understand us. As much as you would like to deny it, that human part of you needs to heal in its own way, even if the Vulcan part of you would deny yourself any emotional release.”

He says nothing, but he moves in to nuzzle at her shoulder. Nyota winds her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, and he kisses her, finding a kind of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, we know that Spock went a bit nuts even after this point, but it does take time, and for me this still fits in with canon.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Spock and Uhura, but I also love angst. And porny angst. Sorry. Remember, this is canon - so the breakup is only temporary.
> 
> Apologise for any unintentional bastardisation of Vulcan phrases. No beta, so excuse any weirdness or typos that may have sneaked in.


End file.
